A hologram materialized with a flicker of static, coalescing into the stern, sneering visage of a man encased in a pristine white naval uniform. The gilded insignia of the Argent Federation gleamed like a star on his collar, a stark contrast to the contemptuous curl of his lip.
Admiral Vorlag, a man whose authority was as vast as the oceans he commanded, surveyed the holographic council with undisguised disdain.
"Hmph. Anomalies, to be sure," he scoffed, his voice dripping with the arrogance of a power that had never known a true rival. "But to deploy our top-of-the-line Enforcers for such a trivial matter? Wasteful. Who's to say these upstarts are even genuine Mid-Tier B-Ranks? The rabble of the C-Rank provinces are hardly a reliable measuring stick for true power."
"Do not be so arrogant, Vorlag," another voice snapped back, sharp and cutting as sea-glass. The hologram of Director Senna, a woman whose sharp eyes and shrewder mind had navigated the treacherous political currents of the Directorate for decades, regarded the Admiral with a withering glare. "Your naval supremacy has made you forget the ground beneath your feet. We have two unregistered, B-Rank-equivalent entities operating with absolute impunity. In less than a week, they have decapitated a Noble House and systematically dismantled the governing body of an entire province. This is no longer some petty internal Cascadia matter. This is a multi-Provincial security threat, a crack in the foundation of our established order."
She leaned forward, her holographic image seeming to impose itself upon the virtual space. "We need to make contact. We need to assess their disposition, their goals, their limits. We must establish our authority before they decide to establish their own. Unless, of course, you wish to be the one to stand before the entire Directorate and explain why you ignored the sudden genesis of two B-Ranks in a backwater province when they begin carving a path of destruction through your precious shipping lanes?"
Admiral Vorlag's sneer tightened, the muscles in his jaw bunching as he recognized the political checkmate. Senna had not just questioned his judgment; she had threatened his reputation.
"You have made your point," he conceded, his voice as cold as the abyssal depths. "However, the Federation's primary fleets are currently occupied. A Leviathan-class beast migration is threatening the southern trade routes—a real threat, I might add, not a speculative one. We can only afford to dispatch a preliminary force."
He steepled his fingers, the sneer returning, albeit more controlled. "A single Major to lead them, and a unit of our First-Ranking Privates. I am quite certain," he added, his voice laced with venomous confidence, "that will be more than sufficient to handle two provincial upstarts."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the other council members. The decision felt safe, proportional. It was a show of force without over-committing valuable assets, a political maneuver to placate Senna while asserting the Federation's dominance. In their sterile command centers, miles from the reality on the ground, they believed the issue was, for all intents and purposes, already resolved.
The decision was made.
...
Miles away from Cascadia, where the political landscape was being fractured and remade by a singular, overwhelming will, another world existed entirely.
It was a world of endless, shimmering blue, a vast, unbroken expanse of ocean that stretched to every horizon, a realm untouched by the chaotic scars of the Broken Wastelands.
Upon this sea moved a titan forged of steel and Aether, a fortress-carrier so immense it resembled a moving island carved from obsidian. This was the ASF Vanguard, flagship of the Argent Federation's Third Fleet. Its very presence was an act of dominion over nature. A crushing aura of pure, condensed power radiated from its Aether-fueled core, an invisible pressure that warped the environment for miles.
The waves stilled in its wake, the very water growing placid and heavy, forcing even the colossal, mutated Aether Beasts lurking in the crushing depths below to flee or suffocate under the weight of its might.
At the bow of the ship, on a command deck shielded by a transparent, Aether-reinforced canopy that offered a panoramic view of the infinite sea, stood two figures.
The first was a man built like a sea-cliff—tall and imposing, with shoulders as broad as the ship's deck and a presence that seemed as vast and unyielding as the ocean itself. His short-cut, salt-and-pepper hair was ruffled by the constant sea breeze, and his sharp, cerulean eyes held the calm, confident gaze of a man who had faced down world-ending tempests and abyssal monsters and emerged, time and again, victorious.
This was Captain Marcus, known to the world by his Hero name: Tsunami Riptide. A dense, almost tangible pressure naturally exuded from his being, a passive display of his High Tier B-Rank power that felt like the weight of a thousand leagues of water.
Beside him stood a woman whose terrifying presence was a stark, chilling contrast to her statuesque beauty. Her long, jet-black hair was pulled into a severe, immaculate braid that fell to her waist, and her storm-gray eyes were framed by an expression of perpetual, cutting disdain for a world she found wanting. She carried herself with a rigid posture that spoke of absolute discipline and a fierce intolerance for weakness in any form.
This was Commander Evelyn Reed, the Maelstrom, whose own aura of profound, swirling water pressure rippled from her, complementing and clashing with her superior's in a dangerous harmony.
Captain Marcus was idly absorbing information from a sleek, hand-held data slate, his brows furrowing slightly as he scrolled through continental news feeds.
"Really," he remarked, his voice a casual, deep baritone that carried easily over the mournful cry of the wind. "It seems like every day I'm hearing about some moronic supervillain trying to make a ripple in some backwater B-Rank Province. You'd think they'd learn."
Evelyn let out a short, disdainful laugh that sounded like the crash of waves against jagged rock. "Well, did you really expect anything different, Marcus? These so-called 'Heroic Nobles' are becoming more outrageous by the year. Their power is inherited, not earned. They breed arrogance like stagnant water breeds flies. Especially those damned Aurelians and their gravitational nonsense. They think because they can make things heavy, they hold the weight of the world."
Captain Marcus shrugged, a simple gesture that nonetheless conveyed immense, coiled power. "Their pride will be their downfall, as it always is."
He continued scrolling before a particular headline made him pause, his brows curling in faint, genuine amusement. "Oh, this is... heh, look at this, Evelyn. Some news about an upheaval sweeping across the C-Rank Provinces."
Evelyn loudly snorted, not even bothering to glance at the slate. "Seriously? News about C-Ranks? The Directorate's news feed must be scraping the bottom of the barrel. Who gives a damn if some village heroes are having a turf war? Those analysts must be truly, profoundly bored to report on such trivialities."
But at that very moment, a deep, resonant chime echoed from Captain Marcus's data slate. The screen flashed a brilliant, urgent crimson. It was a Priority-One notification from the PHAD high command.
The casual air on the command deck vanished in an instant, replaced by a focused, professional gravity that felt colder than the sea spray.
Both Marcus and Evelyn leaned in, their expressions hardening into stone as they read the encrypted order.
As the words scrolled by, their faces shifted from seriousness to sheer, unadulterated bewilderment.
Evelyn blinked, her mask of disdain cracking for the first time as she slowly muttered, "Is this... a joke? They want us to dispatch a Major and three of our First-Rank Privates to deal with merely two B-Ranks?"
There was a beat of strained silence, broken only by the distant cry of a lone sea bird against the endless blue. Captain Marcus let out a light, thoughtful sigh, rubbing the stubble on his chin.
"Two B-Ranks," he corrected softly, his gaze fixed on the data file, a strange light in his eyes, "who were apparently born directly in a C-Rank Province. No noble lineage, no known training from any major institution, no record of their existence until a week ago. This is... unexpected, to say the least."
Evelyn's eyes narrowed, her teeth clicking in sharp annoyance. "I want to call bullshit. Spontaneous Awakenings of that caliber are one-in-a-billion occurrences, and for two to appear in the same place at the same time? It smells like a hoax or, at worst, a black-ops experiment from the Solar Imperium or those secretive mages in Avalon. But," she sighed, a plume of frustrated air escaping her lips like steam, "I'd rather not get an earful from the admiralty for questioning a direct order. Haah..."
They stood in silence for a moment, processing the sheer strangeness of the directive. They, who commanded fleets to combat continent-threatening beasts, were being ordered to deploy a specialized unit for what amounted to a glorified reconnaissance mission. They were to send three of their most promising First-Rank Privates and a leading Major to scope out the situation.
Their mission: learn everything they could about the anomalies named Orion and Lyra. Ascertain their origins, their motives, and, most importantly, the upper limits of their power. The order was explicit: they were not to physically engage unless directly provoked.
"Just what in the blazes is going on these days?" Evelyn finally muttered, shaking her head as she gazed out at the unchanging horizon.
The world, it seemed, was growing more unpredictable. And for the self-appointed guardians of order, unpredictability was the most dangerous threat of all.
...
A day passed quickly in Cascadia, a day that felt like a decade.
Orion's grand proclamation had produced another monumental shift, a political earthquake that had left the Wintercroft and Vance families at its violent epicenter. They were now impossibly, frantically busy, tasked with absorbing the fractured, terrified remnants of the Hero Association of Cascadia.
It was a strange, almost surreal thought that echoed in the minds of everyone in the province. The HAC, which had once stood at the absolute peak, an untouchable organization that was the dream destination for countless aspiring Heroes, had been dismantled. Not by war, not by revolution, but by a few casually spoken words from a single man.
The soul-crushing terror of B-Rank power was becoming a lesson learned by more and more people with each passing hour.
But on this day, within a sunlit, private chamber of the Wintercroft estate, the atmosphere was far more serene, though laced with a peculiar, almost electric tension.
Orion, true to his word, had arranged a private meeting with Terra and a visibly sweating, perpetually smiling Principal Gold.
At his side, Elysia and Lisanna were perfect studies in contrast.
Elysia sat with a ramrod-straight posture, her silver-blue eyes narrowed, her icy gaze fixed on Terra as if trying to pierce through the girl's soul and uncover some hidden, grand deception. A faint, almost invisible shimmer of frost coated the armrest of her chair.
Lisanna, meanwhile, was lounging elegantly on a velvet couch, a delicate teacup held gracefully in her hand, her lips curled in a permanent, knowing smile of pure amusement. She looked like a divine spectator awaiting a truly magnificent show.
Principal Gold, a faint sheen of perspiration glistening on his balding head, tried desperately to cover his profound nervousness with a forced, obsequious smile.
"Sir Guardian," he began, his voice a touch too high, cracking slightly, "I must apologize again for my student's impertinence yesterday. Her social skills have always been... unique, to say the least."
Orion simply waved a dismissive hand, his focus entirely on Terra. And Terra, in a way that only she could, was completely ignoring the gravity of the meeting.
She was casually inspecting a crystal vase on a nearby table, her head tilted with a slight, genuine curiosity at the way the sunlight refracted through its intricate facets.
That utter lack of attention only made Elysia's eyes narrow further, forcing her to consciously rein in the wave of freezing annoyance that threatened to spill into the room.
Lisanna's smile, however, widened, her golden eyes glowing with a faint, mischievous light.
"I would say she's more honest," Orion remarked, a wry smile touching his own lips. "And honesty is far more valuable than you think, Principal. Say, Terra," he directed his voice, soft but commanding enough to finally draw her attention, "for this... bond. What are you expecting from me?"
It was only then that Terra finally turned her attention from the vase, her gaze meeting Orion's directly. She slowly blinked her deep hazel eyes, then shrugged her shoulders in a casual, fluid motion.
"Uhm, I dunno," she said, her voice even and relaxed, utterly devoid of the tension that choked the room. "I mean, my power's to make super hard diamonds. And everyone always says they're really good for defense and attacking. So, I guess I want... a place where I can make my diamonds, have some fun fights, and not deal with those weirdo noble politics?"
She paused, scrunching her nose slightly in thought. "Everyone at the Academy is just so... complicated. Always talking about useless stuff that's so boring."
"I see," Orion began, but Terra suddenly cut him off, a spark of genuine inspiration lighting her eyes.
"Oh! And that's right," she added, her tone brightening as if she'd solved a complex puzzle. "I definitely want to fight strong things. The training drones are a total bore, they break so easily. And my classmates are all too scared to fight me for real, so..."
Elysia's teeth audibly clicked. "You—! Why are you so utterly—"
"Wait, Ellie," Lisanna suddenly purred, setting her teacup down with a soft, deliberate clink. Her voice was laced with a dangerous amusement. "Isn't she so simple that it's actually kind of cute? Hmm~?"
She turned her playful, yet suddenly razor-sharp gaze on Terra. "And as for you, Terra... I wonder if this is all an act. A clever little ruse to get close to our dear Orion."
For a fleeting moment, Lisanna's smile turned chilling. The temperature in the room plummeted, a palpable cold that had nothing to do with Elysia's power, but everything to do with a predator's killing intent. It crept down Principal Gold's spine, far more terrifying than Elysia's open frostiness.
Terra, however, just tilted her head cutely, a look of genuine confusion on her face at the sudden shift in tone. "Our Orion? Your Orion... Oh, yeah, that bond thing. Hmm... well, he's super strong and you two are also super strong, so that's really cool. But I guess I'm just really here for some fun fights and not dealing with weirdos."
Elysia looked as if she had the sudden, overwhelming urge to pinch the bridge of her nose until it bruised. She let out a frosty, defeated sigh. "She is already headache-inducing, but in a completely different way. I might have to start considering this an art form."
Lisanna just blinked, her dangerous edge receding as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by fascination. "Huh. You know, Ellie, I kind of want to pick her brain apart. See what's actually inside."
Orion simply chuckled, the sound warm and genuine, breaking the strange tension. He rose from his seat and sauntered casually over to Terra, stopping directly in front of her.
"A place to refine your Talent and find worthy foes. An easy request for me." He extended a hand to her, his expression open and inviting, yet holding the weight of a world-altering promise. "I can give you all of that, and much more. Those limits they placed on you, that 'peak C-Rank' potential? We will shatter it so easily it will become a distant memory. And all we need to do... is form a bond."
Terra looked at his outstretched hand, then back up at his face, her hazel eyes clear and unblinking. She nodded once, decisively. "Okay. Deal."
She didn't take his hand. She simply stood there, waiting, completely open and vulnerable, her expression one of simple, straightforward expectation.